Aurica was right... Inspiration does come, if you have it in you... You just have to start somewhere. With a song. A song dedicated to Pink Floyd. But so very alive in its own way. Amazing how a song can unlock the beauty of autumn. The sky you haven't noticed in months... The majestic clouds over the mountain. Trying to find words to describe it...no words, it's like a perfect piece of music - complex, yet in perfect harmony. Airplane traces over the red autumn trees... Seems that we can add something to the beauty of the sky - plane stripes. :)
And after a while You realize time flies... And the best thing that you can do Is take whatever comes to you 'Cause time flies...
She said nothing ever happens If you don't make it happen...
Little yellow petals in the stroller of my sleeping child... This is the beauty of life... It should always make me cry...like now...
An old man glancing at the trash can... Just briefly, he seems ashamed... A boy pushing his bicycle with a flat tire... A mother saying the same syllable to her baby over and over again... The smell of autumn... And me, crying, listening to Porcupine Tree, and writing on the back of an old heating bill... Writing...for the first time in months... Or years? What makes me write? Drugs and music. But drugs are not the way. Or are they? How do you unlock your mind? When songs like this touch you once every 3 years?
if it doesn't come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don't do it. unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don't do it. if you have to sit for hours staring at your computer screen or hunched over your typewriter searching for words, don't do it. if you're doing it for money or fame, don't do it. if you're doing it because you want women in your bed, don't do it. if you have to sit there and rewrite it again and again, don't do it. if it's hard work just thinking about doing it, don't do it. if you're trying to write like somebody else, forget about it. if you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently. if it never does roar out of you, do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife or your girlfriend or your boyfriend or your parents or to anybody at all, you're not ready.
don't be like so many writers, don't be like so many thousands of people who call themselves writers, don't be dull and boring and pretentious, don't be consumed with self- love. the libraries of the world have yawned themselves to sleep over your kind. don't add to that. don't do it. unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don't do it. unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don't do it.
when it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and it will keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you.
I've done everything that can be done to heal this wound Left it on it's own for years
I've done everything that can be done to heal this wound Left it on it's own for years Couldn't touch it, didn't pick it, didn't get it wet It didn't stop the bleeding
I bandaged it, I wrapped it, stitched it, tourniqueted it I held it stiff and aching in the air Held it there til I went berserk Didn't sleep It didn't work Didn't stop it weeping
And the wound is your life And your life took on a life of it's own (Or so you foolishly thought) And your life rolled on over me Bang-Bang like 56 train wheels Every time I heard news of you
And the wound was in every lousy song on the radio
And the pain was like a tree-fern in the dark, damp, forgotten places Darkness didn't stop her growing New-born baby cells dividing.. Curled up tight unrolling day by day Stretching up, stretching out Forming the same identical shape Clones. There ain't too much sadder than Clones - relentlessly emerging from the hairy heart of the wound
And the fern is beautiful in it's own way Uncurling in the dark Beautiful with no one there to see it As the wound weeps and aches
(Now there's some sad things known to the man from the planet Marzipan)
One day I'll find relief I'll be arrived and I'll be a friend to my friends who know how to be friends
One day I'll be at peace I’ll be enlightened and I'll be married with children and maybe adopt
One day I will be healed I will gather my wounds forge the end of tragic comedy
I have been running so sweaty my whole life Urgent for a finish line And I have been missing the rapture this whole time Of being forever incomplete
One day, my mind will retreat, and I'll know god and I'll be constantly one with her night, dusk and day One day I'll be secure, like the women I see on their 30th anniversaries
I have been running so sweaty my whole life Urgent for a finish line And I have been missing the rapture this whole time Of being forever incomplete
Ever unfolding Ever expanding Ever adventurous and torturous But never done
One day, I will speak freely I'll be less afraid And measured outside of my poems and lyrics and art One day I will be faith-filled I'll be trusting and spacious authentic and grounded and whole
I have been running so sweaty my whole life Urgent for a finish line And I have been missing the rapture this whole time Of being forever incomplete
